


Apate :: Deceit

by CAW



Series: To Reap What Thou Sow [2]
Category: Mortal Kombat (Video Games), Mortal Kombat - All Media Types
Genre: Attempted Seduction, Canon-Typical Violence, Drunken Kissing, Emotional Closed Off, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Explicit Language, F/M, Growing Up, Gun Violence, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Just to be safe, Kissing, Let's see how this goes, Mild Language, No beta lol, Origin Story, Original Character(s), Racist Language, Sexist Language, There will be characters that are recognizable in later sections, This is a take on Erron's MKX story ending..., Violence, Weapons, Wild West Themes, manifest destiny
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-05
Updated: 2019-08-05
Packaged: 2020-08-10 03:49:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 11,867
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20128870
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CAW/pseuds/CAW
Summary: PART 2 of TO REAP WHAT THOU SOWAfter the events of MK11, Erron has the chance to reflect on his past before his destiny is rewritten for him by the newest Elder God, Liu Kang.---After causing the death of his father, Erron leaves the town of Nacogdoches for good and intends upon journeying east towards Louisiana to escape the guilt that now hangs over him like a dark cloud. But when he meets a stranger in Dallas heading northwards to the newly established state of Kansas, Erron's plans change as he decides to travel with the stranger. A new chapter unfolds as the guilt in his chest grows heavier and revelations are made that neither he nor the stranger could have ever predicted.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> If y'all are here reading this, thank you! I hope you enjoy my trashy take on Erron Black's backstory! Be prepared for a bumpy ride because, oh boy, do I love to torture this poor cowboy. If specific warnings apply for a chapter, they will be shown at the beginning of the chapter. If you liked the fic, please let me know by leaving kudos or a comment! I'd really appreciate it!
> 
> \---
> 
> Warning: Racist Language / Mentions of Slavery

The wagon was right there. Not only was it not being watched, but it was also completely prepped and ready to go. Erron watched from his crotched position behind a barrel, bouncing his knee impatiently as he watched the oxen at the front of the cloth wagon flex and pull at their harnesses. The blond had been watching this wagon for about an hour, if the sun was anything to go by, and knew for a fact that the man who owned the wagon had plenty of food and drink he had been stockpiling into the carriage throughout the whole day. And the man had been gone for all of twenty minutes, disappearing into a large General Store as he muttered something about shotgun shells.

Erron knew that stealing wasn’t the right thing to do, but it wasn’t like he had eaten or drank anything over the past few days. He, as much as he hated to, had already sold Percy in the main square of Dallas to just to get 20 cents worth of food and that had been almost four days ago. The blond knew that if he didn’t eat soon, he would starve to death. His stomach growled in agreement, the action painful enough that Erron placed one hand on his stomach and one of the ground to keep himself from doubling over, and carefully, oh so carefully, he rose from his hiding space, trying to be as calm and unnoticeable as possible.

He looked over his shoulder once and then once again as he stepped out from behind the barrel, his paranoia growing as thoughts such as someone would recognize him or, even worse, someone from Nacogdoches was following him and was just waiting for the perfect opportunity to drag him kicking and screaming to the Hangman's Noose were getting the better of him. Grunting in pain from his numb legs, Erron maneuvered out from behind the barrel and walked leisurely over to the wagon, making sure to not walk too slow and not walk too fast. He gave the entrance to the General Store a sidelong glance as he passed, but nothing stirred within.

Placing both of his hands on the flap of cloth that hung over the back of the wagon and giving one final look around the busy, bustling street for anyone suspicious looking, Erron quickly hoisted himself inside of the wagon, landing with an oof and sitting up straight immediately to look at the goods. There were various mason jars filled to the brim with canned vegetables, pickled fruits, and many different types of meat and the blond could feel the inside of his mouth began to salivate while his blue eyes drifted from jar to jar to jar.

Opening the flip just the tiniest bit to peer out and make sure no one was approaching the wagon, Erron hummed with approval and took two of the biggest jars, one with vegetables and one with buffalo meat, in his hands. He weighed them carefully, biting the inside of his cheek as he thought about how in the Hell he was going to get out of this wagon without someone suspecting a robbery. Finally shrugging his shoulders, he placed one jar under each of his arms and shuffled towards the exit on his knees. He cursed lightly when he felt a splinter dig into his knee and, trying to ignore the new pain as much as possible, placed one jar on the ground and reached for the cloth flap to push it aside.

The man beat him to it however. Erron froze, staring into the face of a black man about his height with skinny arms and an even skinnier waist. The blond barely breathed as the realisation he had been caught poked him instantly in the back of the head, the man’s brown eyes narrowing as he placed the box of shells on the ground outside of the wagon. The young man knew he could  _ try _ and make a run for it, but hardly doubted he would make it far. The man was in such good shape, he probably wouldn’t even need to run and would still catch the blond.

The man placed his forearms on the edge of the wagon and, raising a brow, asked deeply, “What’re doin’ in here, friend? Don’t you know this ain’t yer wagon?” His eyes drifted to the jars under Erron’s arms and, after sighing deeply, stated slowly, “Though, considerin’ yer takin’ them jars, I’m sure you already knew that.”

Setting both jars back on the ground uneasily, Erron cleared his throat and said lightly, “Was just lookin’ for work, sir. Thought I saw you in here, is all. Yer Master nearby or somethin’? Maybe I could talk to him?”

The man’s face darkened and he rolled his eyes before snapping, “You wanna talk to the Master, yer lookin’ right at him. I bought my freedom, friend, so don’t go assumin’ things you don’t understand.” He took the box of shotgun shells in his arms and threw them into the back of the wagon, narrowly missing Erron as the blond dove out of the way. “Now get.”

“I’m mighty sorry, Mister,” Erron stammered awkwardly as he slide slowly towards the exit of the wagon, feeling stupid for insuating something  _ that  _ personal for someone he just met. His Ma, though a witch at times, had raised him better than that after all. He dangled his legs over the side of the wagon and, even though he knew he probably shouldn’t, he asked, “So, uh, where are you headin’ to?”

“Is that any of yer damn business?” the man retorted as he moved away from Erron, heading towards the front of the wagon and pulling the reins tight into his hand as he climbed onto the seat on top, “Northwards is all you need to know.”

And like that, a lightbulb went off in Erron’s head. He jumped down from his seat and walked briskly to the front of the wagon, his eyes trying to gain the man’s attention as he announced, “Well… It just so happens that I’m headin’ North too.” The man gave him an unbelieving look as Erron continued with his lie, “Lookin’ for my own place in the world. Just wanna branch out, ya know?”

The man snorted and said curtly, “I ain’t takin’ you nowhere, if that’s what yer lookin’ for.” He tipped his hat at Erron and the blond had to swallow the anger building his gut as the man gave the oxen the whip and they started to pull away from the General Store. “Have a fine day, friend! Next time, don’t be so rude with yer introductions!”

And so, Erron did the only logical thing he could think of in his brief moment of anger and panic at not having any food for another day. He quickly jogged after the wagon and slide back inside the flap, trying to be as smooth and quiet as possible. His head ached from the jostling motion of the wagon, but he eventually grew relaxed enough where he could comfortably curl into the corner of the wagon and drift into a peaceful sleep.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Racist Language (But they're bleeped out, don't you worry)

The first thing he registered was cold water splashing onto his face, leaving the blond a sputtering and soaking mess as he sat upright and disoriented himself in the process. The second and more pressing thing he registered was a revolver pointed directly in between his eyes. “Jesus Christ,” Erron grumbled when he saw the man frown from behind the barrel of the gun, his body painfully aware of how close to the gun he really was. One false move and boom! He was as good as gone.

The man growled and shoved him with the tip of the barrel as he hissed, “The Hell are you still doin’ here, you damn idjit! Didn’t I tell you to scram back in Dallas?!”

Back in Dallas? That must mean they were far along the route the man had planned. Maybe. They could be just on the outskirts of Dallas for all he knew. Erron covered his mouth as he yawned, carefully locating the nearest mason jar just in case things got out of hand, before replying waspishly, “You did. But I didn’t listen.” He then reached behind him and grabbed one of the jars, holding it in front of him as he attempted to take off the sealed lid with just his hand. He knew he was pressing his luck, but, _ damn _ , he was hungry. “Why’s a fella such as yerself got all this food anyways? How far North are you even planning on goin’?”

The gun clicked into place and Erron froze, his eyes rising from his work on the mason jar to give the man a confused look as a sharp jab of fear echoed in his ribcage. He lowered the jar back to ground and raised his hands in defeat, watching as the man scowled and said lowly, “I don’t know who you are or why you just happened to chose  _ my _ wagon of all the choices you had back in Dallas. But I’m warnin’ you, boy,” he tapped Erron sharply on the chest and the blond held his breath as he anticipated the gun to go off, “If you think for one  _ damn _ minute that I’m just one of them push over n*gg*rs that you can just take from and do whatever the Hell you want to, you’ve gone and barked up the wrong tree.” 

Erron watched as the gun was pulled away and placed delicately back into the hostler at his side, the man’s expression never leaving a frowning mask as he pulled the cloth flap shut again and walked away, leaving the blond more than a little confused. He could’ve shot him and yet he hadn’t. Erron had been the one to sneak onto his wagon and attempt to steal his food and  _ still _ the man hadn’t shot him. Huh. Lifting the flap ever so slightly, feeling the man climb back onto his seat on the other side of the wagon, Erron could see nothing about plains and prairie lands spaning in all directions. The moon was out and cast a silvery shadow over the wagon, lighting the land in a simple glow that brought back waves of emotion the Erron  _ really _ didn’t want to deal with right then. Maybe later he would, probably he wouldn’t.

Closing the flap and leaning back into the carriage, the blond, assuming what the man didn’t know couldn’t hurt him, began to slowly open the mason jar of green beans he had been trying to open earlier, the steady thumping of the oxen’s hoofs on the ground relaxing his mind as he finally opened the seal with a satisfying pop. “So tell me somethin’,” the blond began, hoping that the man could hear him from his seat at the front as he dipped his hand into the jar, “If yer not gonna shoot me and yer not gonna make get out of yer wagon, you could at least have the courtesy to tell a fella where the Hell he’s headin’ to.”

No sound was heard for quite some time, except, of course, the sound of Erron slurping the old green beans into his mouth as if it were the most delicious thing on the planet even though it most definitely was NOT. Through the small holes in the cloth that covered the wagon, the blond could see the flickering lights of fireflies blinking on and off over and over again as a faint smile growing on his face. They almost looked like stars, just closer and not quite as hot. It was once he had finished the jar of green beans and had discarded the bottle beside himself with a sigh when the man finally answered him gruffly, “We’re goin’ to the Kansas Territory.”


	3. Chapter 3

The inn wasn’t something extravicate, but it would have to do. The wagon halted directly outside it’s double doors, the man quickly jumping down from his seat to go speak with the innkeeper about staying the night. Erron, who had been slowly but surely making his way through a jar of peaches, placed the jar on the ground of the wagon and quickly slid to the edge of the cloth flap, jumping down onto the earth with a thud. Tying up the flap behind him so that nobody would get any ideas about stealing the food, the blond smirked at the irony and quickly went around to the front of the wagon to pat one of the oxen lightly on the back.

Waiting patiently for the man to return so that he could lead the oxen to somewhere less in the way for other patrons of the inn, Erron breathed out loudly and leaned on the wooden frame that held the wagon together, crossing his arms as he leaned precariously. If the blond was being honest, he didn’t really want to stay the night at the inn and instead just wanted to plow on ahead straight into the Uncharted Native Territory to the North. But, as the man had pointed not just twenty minutes prior, the oxen had been pullin’ the heavy wagon for almost two days without rest and that wasn’t healthy. “Plus,” the man had grumbled when Erron started to protest, “It’ll be good to get out of the wagon fer a bit. Get some fresh air and whatnot. It’ll be nice, you just wait and see.”

Well, truth be told, Erron wasn’t getting a good feeling about just sittin’ around in front of the Inn with limited protection and then about goin’ into Inn to actually sleep there for a night… But maybe that was just his paranoia getting the best of him again. Huffing, he scratched the back of the oxen again and tried to get his mind off of Nacogdoches by counting the amount of people going in and out of the busy Inn. It was just on the outskirts of a small town that Erron couldn’t be bothered to remember the name of. It didn’t really matter anyhow; They’d only be staying for the night.

The door to the Inn slammed and out stormed the man, his face a mixture of anger and frustration as he mumbled something to himself as he approached the wagon. Erron frowned and asked, “Somethin’ the matter? What’s goin’ on?”

“We gotta keep movin’.” Erron made a face as the man climbed back onto the wagon, his hands white as he pulled the reins sharply on the oxen. They had just gotten here. Why were they leaving so soon? When Erron didn’t move, the man looked sharply at the blond and snapped as he jammed his thumb at the back of the wagon, “Get in the damn wagon. We’re gonna try to make the next town before dark.”

Begrudgingly, Erron rolled his eyes and moved away from the oxen, walking quickly back to end of the wagon and, untying the knots he had put together so nicely as quickly as he possibly could, slipped in with a sigh of discontentment. “Don’t understand why we have to leave so soon when we just got here,” he began once he had settled into a comfortable position on the wooden boards, feeling the wagon jostle and jolt anew as they pulled away from the Inn. He reached for the jar of peaches he didn’t get to finish from earlier and tried to eat. He wasn’t very hungry though. He discarded the jar to side and sighed, a realisation beginning to dawn on him that he didn’t like. “You know… I could’ve gone and talked to the Innkeeper for you…” Erron said softly as he moved to the front of the wagon, moving aside the cloth so that he could rest his forearms on the seat that the man was sitting on.

The man snorted and shook his slightly, looking over his right shoulder and back the way they had come before muttering, “Wouldn’t have been safe anyhow. One of us would probably have to stay up all night.” He laughed unhappily and looked back over his shoulder as he sighed and returned his gaze forward.

He was tired, both physically and mentally. It was painfully obvious for the blond, who sat up slowly, flexing his muscles as he went, and climbed out of the back part of the wagon to sit in the seat beside the man. It was awkward, but Erron didn’t really care. He grabbed the reins from the man’s slender fingers and said lightly, “You want me to get us to the next town while you get some sleep? I don’t mind.”

The man looked at him uneasily, almost seemingly having a debate internally about whether he should take the blond up on his offer. Finally, the man fixed Erron with a hard look and said, “I’ll be the only one takin’ us places, friend.” He snatched the reins back and continued with downcasted eyes, his tone softer this time, “...Thanks fer the offer. You’ll understand if I don’t except…”

“‘Course,” Erron replied easily, making his way back inside the wagon as a wave of sympathy washed over him for the man. He understood now and felt mighty terrible for even offering to in the first place.

Just as he was about to close the cloth flap, he heard the man say gruffly with a hint of amusement in his voice, “Since yer sure as Hell not guidin’, least you can do is keep me company.”

Erron smiled and quickly slide back into his seat, watching as wagons and horses trotted by on their left as the man began rambling about the town they would soon be coming up to. The blond nodded along when it was appropriate, losing himself to the conversation as the light began to grow thinner around them and the darkness started to creep in.


	4. Chapter 4

**1856**

Sometimes, on the really bad nights, Erron would get nightmares. The real vivid kind where it would feel like he was reliving what happened back in Nacogdoches over and over again, but different people were swapped around in the story. Some nights, he was one being choked by his Father on the floor, not Emilia. Sometimes, Rose was the one who shot his father right between the eyes as the blond lay distressed in the corner, paralised with fear. Once, the blond held the gun alright and, instead of shooting Samual, shot Rose, his beloved flower, in the chest, watching her bleed out onto the floor as she screamed in pain and clutched her side with tears rolling down her face. That dream was always the worst.

No matter what, he always awoke gasping for breath, his hands shaking and his breathing shallow as he leaned back against the wall of the wagon and pulled his knees to chest. It wasn’t real and he knew it; he hadn’t actually shot Rose and watched her die in front of him. But he had shot his Father and, even if that sonofabitch deserved it, he still felt guilt swirling uneasily in his gut. He tried willing it away several times, but nothing seemed to work.

The man sat up from his place across the wagon, rubbing his own sleep from his eyes as he asked groggily, “Is it mornin’ already?” He yawned and gave Erron a quizzical look, the blond removing his hands from his knees as he shook his head no with a bite to the inside of his cheek. The man groaned and asked with exasperation in his voice, “Then why’d you wake me up? I gotta get up early to deal with the damn oxen anyways.”

“Didn’t mean to wake ya,” Erron replied tiredly, running a hand through his matted hair in an attempt to smooth it out. He hadn’t had a wash in quite a few days and the grim was finally starting to get to him. And it took a  _ lot  _ of grim to really upset the blond enough where he would start wanting to look for a bath. He stretched, popping his joints in place, as he slowly rose to his feet and stated while walking around the man, “Go back to sleep. I’ll deal with them stupid cows.”

The man frowned and sat up, swiping at his arm as a fly landed there before he snipped, “Now don’t you worry ‘bout a thing.  _ I’ll  _ deal with the oxen.”

Nearly halfway out of the cloth flap with his legs hanging over the side of the wooden structure, Erron sighed and narrowed his eyes in the man’s direction, frustration leaking into his tone as he replied sharply, “Do you not trust me? We’ve been on the road for almost a year and yet you still won’t let me take care of yer damn animals even when yer plumb tuckered out.” Erron huffed and jumped down from the wagon, looking at the scowling man before raising a hand to stop him from speaking and saying, “You rest, you hear? I’m doin’ the animals.”

Muttering something about working too hard under his breath, Erron quickly walked around to the front of the wagon and, finding that the oxen were sound asleep, tried to wake them by shaking their shoulders gently. He didn’t take kindly to getting kicked in the face, so he tried to keep some distance between himself and the beasts. He heard ruffling behind him and turned to see the man’s frowning face peeking out from behind the cloth flap. “What gives me the belief that I can trust you, hm?” the man asked, climbing through the flap to rest on his seat with his arms crossed tightly in front of his chest, “Like you said, we’ve only been travelin’ for a year. That’s hardly enough time to know anybody. I don’t even know yer name, fer Christ’s sake!” 

The man spat out that last phrase, glaring at Erron as the blond stopped what he was doing and mirrored the man by crossing his own arms and glaring back. “For yer information,” he started, trying to cool the anger rising in chest, “I have told you my name. Twice, if I recall correctly.” Images of his dream kept drifting across his train of thought, momentarily distracting him long enough that he was staring a bit too long at the man for it to be comfortable. 

The man shifted on his seat and grumbled, “Well I don’t recall you ever tellin’.”

“You were about to fall once and then you almost got hit in the head by a mason jar the second time.” 

The man made a face, jumping down from his seat and standing next to Erron with hands now tucked firmly into his pockets. He was a few inches taller than the blond and he noted that with growing unease as the man said firmly, “You sound like you just made those up.”

Rolling his eyes and just wanting to be done with the conversation, Erron uncrossed his arms and held one out in a gesture that implied shaking hands. The man looked confused for a moment before taking the hand, the blond shaking his hand tightly and stating carefully, “Name’s Erron Black. Third and last time I’m gonna say it.”

He stepped away from the man and continued to try to wake up the oxen, one of which was already starting to shift to it’s feet as fireflies flew close and almost made it sneeze. He whispered things to oxen as he slowly woke them, rubbing their backs and brushing them gently before moving on to the next one. The man eventually did leave Erron to go back into the wagon, saying something about getting breakfast prepared, and the blond suddenly felt the weight of being watched lifted off his shoulders. That was good, at least. But no longer feeling warm under the man’s gaze as a small wind gust blew through was not as great a feeling. 


	5. Chapter 5

The sky was a petrid color when the small town of Kansas City rolled into view over the horizon, the tiny buildings and muddied pathways hardly comparable to the large cities to the East such as Boston or Philadelphia. Erron was sitting on the seat up front, the man carefully cleaning his revolver beside him with a look of determination on his face, and holding onto the reins as the town inched closer and closer to them. The wind rustled across the plains, shaking the cloth canvas that held the wagon together, and created goosebumps on the blond’s arms and legs. Using one hand to rub his cold arm, Erron muttered under his breath, “Looks like a storm comin’ from up North.” 

He nodded in the direction that the dark clouds were forming, swirling and twisting around each other as occtional flicks of lighting shot down to Earth just to be followed by a rumble of thunder. It’s not like the man and Erron hadn’t had to deal with storms over the course of their journey Northwards, but this one seemed different somehow. It seemed bigger or more powerful, with the clouds twirling together rapidly as if someone were controlling it. 

Erron eyed the storm a bit longer before turning his head back towards the road and to the town ahead, shaking his head and trying to will the oxen to go faster. Pushing them wasn’t good; They’d learned that the hard way when one of the oxen had died on the trip and they had to go out of their way to buy a new one. But the blond reckoned it was better to find shelter in the town and potentially hurt the oxen than to get struck by lightning out in the middle of open prairie Kansas.

“Mhmm,” the man agreed as he carefully wiped the handle of the gun with an oiled rag with multiple ash stains on it, careful to keep the barrel away from his face and pointed towards the ground on the outside of the wagon, “Lucky that we made it all the way here without getting caught in the middle of it.” Erron hummed in agreement and the two fell into a companionable silence, the man eventually slipping the rag inside his pocket and placing the gun on his lap as the town grew closer.

Seeing the shining revolver out of the corner of his eye, Erron jabbed his head and asked with a crinkled brow, “Keepin’ that out ain’t the best way to make a first impression.” He saw the man give him an exasperated look as he lifted the gun and twisted it in his fingers, the blond flinching each time the barrel spun and pointed at him. 

Eventually the man let the gun land carefully on his lap, placing one hand on it protectively as he let a self-depricating laugh out of his throat and gave Erron an are-you-stupid? look. “Just ‘cause Kansas is technically free territory don’t make it a safe haven,” he relied bitterly, scooching away from the edge of the wagon as a mud puddle splashed up and soaked his right side. Erron tried to focus on the road with his side pressed against the man’s, his jaw clenching in frustration, as the man continued with a sigh, “Though I suppose it should be better up here. Positive thinkin’ and all that. But, anyway, it’s always good to be careful just in case. You never know what kind of rednecks are prowlin’ around.”

Erron simply nodded, the road finally starting to even out as they approached the town entrance. Several people on horseback galloped by the old wagon, kicking dirt into the oxen’s faces and almost causing one of them to balk and stop walking altogether. The blond cursed and replied with annoyance, “Rednecks is right. Never seen somebody be so damn rude before-”

“Can you shoot?” The blond paused his train of thought, giving the man a look as he clutched the reins harder and tried to ground himself. Of course he did. Not well, since it had been nearly a year since he had last held a weapon when he…

Shoving his guilt and sadness deep inside of him once again, Erron sharply replied as he looked back to the road, “Yeah. What of it?”

The man, seemingly noticing his change in mood, waited a couple of seconds before saying mildly, “I didn’t know that…” He paused, seemingly thinking about what to say next before asking lightly, “What kind?”

Erron did not like the way this conversation was going, stiffening beside the man before replying tightly, “Rifle. Don’t know what kind. It wasn’t mine.”

That, right there, was what Erron wanted to be the end of the conversation. Sadly the man obviously didn’t understand that was what the blond wanted as he whistled and said sternly, “Well that’s not helpful in the slightest. Yer gonna have to learn how to use one of these.” He held up his revolver, Erron’s eyes drifting to it once before he snorted and shook his head.

“Yeah right. When pigs fly, maybe I’ll consider it.” Erron smirked, masking his discomfort, and looked over his left shoulder to see if there was anyone stuck behind their wagon. 

The man tucked his gun back into his holster and wiping his hands onto his jeans, the man looking at Erron and deadpanning, “All you need to do to make a pig fly is to throw it, you know that right?”

The blond laughed and gave the man a sideways look, warmth bubbling in his chest that he couldn’t recognize. It didn’t really matter anyway. They had finally reached Kansas, afterall.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Mentions of Slavery

“This building here. This is where we should stop.” Erron sharply tugged at the reins for the oxen to slow to a stop outside of a tall building with the sign that proudly announced that it was a tavern. The name was barely legible, even in the middle of the day, with the paint used to write the bright lettering already washed away because of the light sprinkles of rain they had over the course of the day. The man fixed his straw hat tighter over his head, shielding his eyes from the mistings of rain that were blowing into both of the man’s faces, as he jumped down from his seat and hurried around to the back of the wagon. 

The blond, his hair beginning to stick unattractively to his forehead, jumped down as well and got closer to the sign, trying to read what the Hell it said. He placed both hands on his hips as he cocked his head, his brain finally figuring out that the sign said  **Opal White Tavern** before reminding him he should probably help the man get the jars out of the wagon. Meandering his way over to the man, he reached into the wagon and asked while pulling out two very large jars, “Why this place? You know the owners or somethin’?”

“Or somethin’,” the man replied as he quickly put two more jars in Erron’s arms and grabbed two for himself. Noticing that the blond was still staring at him with confusion in his eyes, the man sighed and, looking over his shoulder, whispered, “They helped me buy my way out of Texas. Apparently they went down there and saw my ass out in the field, toilin’ away under the sun. They talked to the Master and that very day, I was released.” Erron nodded along to the man’s story, his arms beginning to burn from holding the jars for so long as the man finished quickly, “They told me they were movin’ up to Kansas ‘cause the land was cheaper and that I should come visit someday. Turns out that day just happens to be today.”

“What mighty fine folks,” Erron commented quietly as he watched the man take another jar and give the blond a curious glance with a slight smile. He stepped around the blond, who had realized, yet again, that he may have been holding eye contact just a bit too long, and started towards the building, almost knocking over the sign as he walked by. He disappeared inside the swinging doors of the tavern as Erron quickly placed one of the jars onto the ground and tied the back of the wagon’s cloth flap into a strong knot, unease spreading in his chest as he reached down to pick up the jar of buffalo meat again.

Almost dropping all of the jars before cursing and managing to right them between his chest and arms, Erron walked quickly over to the safety of the little overhang that kept the rain and wind off of the porch that led into the tavern. He could feel the water soaking into his clothes and he growled in annoyance as he pushed the swinging door open with his hip, trying to not drop any of the jars onto the wooden paneling as he did. 

The room as crowded, but not overly so. It was just crowded enough so that Erron had lost complete track of the man, the din of the tavern growing louder the further into the room he walked. The blond glanced behind him and thought he saw the man slouching against a far wall, but he was mistaken and quickly moved on. Finally, Erron letting out a sigh of relief, he spotted the man sitting happily on one of the stools surrounding the bar, his forearms resting on the table and ankles hooked together under the stool as he talked adamantly to a woman that stood on the other side of the bar with her arms full of the jars that he had brought in. The blond sidestepped a man heading for the exit and quickly found his way to the man’s side, the woman immediately stopping her conversation to look at the jars in Erron’s hands with excitement.

“I’m assumin’ these are fer you, ma’am,” Erron said as he placed the jars onto the counter, sliding onto a stool to the left of the man as the woman positively squealed and shot him a toothy grin which the blond quickly returned. 

The man chuckled beside Erron as the woman took each of the jars and placed them quickly behind her on a shelf with multiple types of drinks sitting there as well before saying excitedly, “These are just wonderful! We was runnin’ out of just about everythin’ you could think off right as y'all was showin’ up! Thank you very kindly!” Placing the final jar on the shelf, the woman turned around and asked with a twinkle in her eye and a smile on her lips, “Now, I do say I recognize yer face,” she pointed at the man as he took a small sip from the drink in front of him, “But… I don’t think I’ve ever met you before, son.” Her attention was on Erron now, her gaze kindly and motherly as he crossed his arms and grinned back at her.

He leaned back in his chair as she placed her elbows on the surface of the counter and asked with a smile, “Tell me. How long have you and Miss. Deborah been acquainted?”


	7. Chapter 7

**1857**

It really was too hot to be doing anything except for sitting and drinking inside the peaceful confines of the tavern, but, of course, the day where the sun seemed to be scorching the Earth was the day the man --  _ Deborah _ \-- had decided to give Erron proper shooting lessons with her revolvers. Standing behind the tavern with folded arms and sweat trickling down his neck and forehead, the blond tried to cool down by rolling up the sleeves of his shirt to his forearm. Though it helped, it only did so much to elevate the heat that sat like a wet blanket over Kansas City, the humidity from a recent storm making Erron even more irritable than he already was. 

The doors to the tavern slammed open and there stood the woman herself, her blue skirt grazing carefully along the ground as she marched over, with two hostlers and two revolvers in her hands, to where the blond stood, who unfolded his arms and gave the woman an annoyed look as she approached. “Could’ve told me to wait for you inside of the tavern instead of havin’ me wait all the way out here by my lonesome,” he muttered as Deborah dropped one of the hostlers at his feet, not making a move to pick it up until the woman kicked it towards his feet with a frown. 

Erron glared at her in response, but slowly bent down to pick up the weapon, a surge of emotion traveling through him once his hands grazed the leather binding the revolver within itself. Deborah sighed and said brashly, “I didn’t tell you nothin’ of the sort, Black.” She quickly opened her own hostler and plucked out the revolver, running her tanned hand over the barrel before grousing with a sharpness in her tone, “You don’t want my help, go on back inside. I ain’t wastin’ my time teachin’ someone who don’t wanna learn.”

Turning the hostler over and over again in his hands, his thumbs rubbing over the smooth leather in a rhythmic pattern, Erron grunted in acknowledgement to Deborah’s statement, not wanting to actually turn and look at the woman as he thought over what she said carefully. Did he really want to learn how to shoot again? After what happened the last time he had held a gun? 

Deborah let out a laugh and the blond looked up from the holster to see her shaking her head at the ground with both hands on her waist. “I see how it is,” she started once her laughs had subsided, “You’d take plenty of lessons from a man, but none from a woman. How perfectly sensible of you, friend.” His -- _ her _ \-- face was a mask of disgust and disbelief as she reached forward and tried to take the gun from the blond’s hands, the latter taking a step back so that she was out of his reach and almost tripping over a rock as he did. 

“That ain’t true,” Erron started, his hands clenching around the weapon as his mind raced in a million directions at once, “I was taught to shoot a damn rifle by a woman, for Christ’s sake.” Lifting one of his hands to wipe some of sweat dripping off his face, the blond took the revolver out of it’s hostler, the metal cold against his slick palm, and pointed it towards the tavern, imaging the Outpost in his mind’s eye as he tightened his grip and prepared to squeeze the trigger.

Moving from Erron’s side, Deborah quickly stepped in front of him and placed her hand over the head of the revolver, her eyes narrowing as she snapped, “Are ya crazy? We ain’t shootin’ the tavern! Would get kicked out faster than I could say Flap-Jacks. Besides, yer stance is all wrong.” She gripped the barrel tightly and whipped it out of Erron’s hands, her hair flying behind her as she spun on her heel and, widening and bending her legs so she was balanced, quickly pointed the gun back at the blond, her eyes shining with triumph.

It was an odd feeling, having Deborah hold the gun close enough to the blond that he could practically feel the metal on his clammy skin. It was not something he was afraid of, he was just intrigued by the fact that this woman, who had tricked him for a year and three months by pretending to be a man, had not once, but twice held a gun to his face with the intent of causing him harm… Or to at least to scare him. It was almost thrilling, to be quite honest. She was strong and Erron liked that more than he cared to admit.

Raising his hands in mock surrender, Erron cleared his throat and asked languidly, “Are you gonna actually show me anythin’ or are you just gonna show off fer the rest of the day?” He watched as Deborah raised a brow and flipped the gun around in her hand, pressing the handle into the blond’s outstretched palm before taking her own gun into her hand. The blond tried to copy the woman’s stance, widening his legs and bending them slightly, as she watched approvingly, switching the gun to his right hand so it was more comfortable to hold onto.

Deborah stood straight, motioning with her hand for Erron to stay still as she walked in front of him and looked at his stance, the blond feeling her gaze travel up and down his body as a warm feeling slowly covered his chest. “That’s a fine stance,” Deborah eventually said, shifting her eyes away as she twirled her own revolver in between her fingers. Erron let out an internal sigh, his eyes tracking her movements as she continued, “Now it’s time to actually get to shootin’ somethin’.” She smiled thinly as she turned around and, looking at the ground, began walking forward before calling, “Toads are as good as anythin’ to start with! Trick is finding them is all!” She looked once over her shoulder and, seeing that Erron still hadn’t moved from his position snapped, “I ain't doin’ all the work for ya. Help me look!”


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Non-Consentual Kissing (AKA Erron being a mega idiot/douche while drinking his ass off)

The air was thick and heavy, a common occurrence when the tavern was completely full to compastity. Priscilla was working quickly behind the bar, taking orders and making them as quickly as she possibly could, and the entertainment for the night, a traveling troop of banjo players from Missouri, were lively and full of jokes and exciting music. Even Dovie, the nickname Erron had graciously offered Deborah after she shot down three birds in a row on one of the many days they had practiced with the revolvers, was laughing and drinking her share of mead and wine, clapping the blond on the shoulder whenever the banjo players said something funny that left the room in an uproar of mirth.

As for the blond, he was sitting quietly by the bar on one of the many stools that lined the wooden surface, one hand wrapped around a bottle of wine and the other wrapped loosely around Dovie’s shoulders. Her curly hair bounced every time she laughed boisterously, the noise melodic and rich in Erron’s ears. He took a sip from his wine bottle and was nearly pulled over as Dovie jumped to her feet from her own stool and raised a glass to a kissing man and woman in the middle of the room, shouting along with everyone else her congratulations to the betrothed. 

Erron snorted and placed his drink back onto the counter behind him with a clunk, catching Priscilla’s eye as she hurried by with more drinks for patrons on the other side of the bar. When she returned, she smiled wide at the blond and winked slyly, her eyes flickering between him and Dovie suggestively. The blond tried to contain his giggles by covering his mouth with the croke of his elbow at his friend’s lack of tact, but it was proved in vain as he burst into laughter after Priscilla started wiggling her eyebrows too. He took another sip of his drink to calm himself, tears pricking at the corners of his eyes.

Yes, he was decidedly drunk. He had to be; The normal thoughts of guilt and disgust with himself were but a faint buzzing at the back of his mind, insignificant now that the liquor was flowing through his veins. He glanced at Dovie, his heart swelling to see her so happy when most of the time she was the opposite. Looking away and dropping the wine glass back onto the table, Erron felt a twang in his heart, something that had only happened once two years ago. No common sense was going to try to suppress what he was feeling now, what he had been feeling for almost half a year (and, if he was completely honest though he would NEVER admit it, maybe even before then). Nothing was, if the blond could help it.

Resting his drink back onto the bar counter, he swiftly got up from his seat and walked in front of Dovie, who was watching the banjo players start another lively dance behind glazed eyes. She acknowledged him briefly before swatting at his arm and saying with a laugh, “Black, get outta the way! I’mma tryin’ to watch the men play their songs!” 

She clapped her hands to the beat with a smile until Erron grabbed her hands with his own and asked lightly, “Wanna go dance, sugar?” Dovie tightened their hands as she whooped and shot up from her seat, pulling Erron through throngs of people until they were right in front of the players. She placed a hand on his shoulder, her touch feather soft, and laughed when Erron placed a hand on the small of her back, her eyes shining as he began to lead them in a dance that was a mix between hopping and swinging each other around the floor. 

Erron let out a chuckle which turned into a full belly laugh each time they swung around the room, his grip tightening on her back so that if she slipped on the floor she wouldn’t fall. Eventually, it turned from the blond leading to the blond following, Dovie’s erratic footsteps taking over as she began to spin and jump so quickly that Erron had no choice but to follow. It was fun, to say the least.

The song came to an abrupt end as Dovie swung them around one more time, her foot tripping over her mahogany dress as she tried to stop her motions. She tilted to the side, her arms flaying as she attempted to balance herself. Grabbing onto her wrist just as she was about to fall, Erron quickly yanked her backwards and into his arms, draping both of his hands over her back once he stopped stumbling from the force of her impacting with him. She looked mildly confused for a few moments, as cheers and claps echoed about the tavern, before plastering a smile on her face and shouting in delight with a raised fist. 

The blond smiled again, looking into Dovie’s flushed face as his own grew hot with anticipation. If he was going to do it, this was his chance. As Dovie turned back to give what the blond assumed to be a hug, he surged forward and pressed his lips to her, opening his mouth invitingly while closing his eyes as the woman in his arms stopped moving entirely. People laughed and cheered at Erron’s menstrations, his arms squeezing lightly as he pulled her closer to his chest and bit her bottom lip teasingly, praying that she'd kiss him back.

All that he was met with was a sharp smack to the face, the blond quickly opening his eyes as he was shoved away and back into the crowd of people surrounding them. His face was a mask of confusion as Dovie, her face a mixture of rage and fear, quickly turned on her heel and rushed out of the tavern door, knocking quite a few people out of her way in her haste to leave. There was no cheering once the doors slammed closed.


	9. Chapter 9

The night air chilled Erron as he shuffled down the street, the stars shining coldly from high above as feelings of stupidity flooded his head and made him feel small. He brazenly kicked at a stone that sat lonely in the middle of the road, sending it shooting into the wooden paneling of a house nearby, but the blond could care less at the moment. He shoved his hands into his pockets as he continued down the road quickly, his eyes roaming across the houses and shops that littered the town as he sighed in discontempt. 

Dovie couldn’t have gotten far, even though she was in a hurry to leave. He’d only seen her that angry a few other times, once when a man had said something unsavory to her and another when a woman called her a n*gg*r directly to her face. That bitch had a bullet in her food, courtesy of the blond, before she could even mumble an apology. Served her damn right.

Erron felt so goddamn stupid, mentally cursing the drinks he had downed only three hours before that had almost evaporated off of him once Dovie’s hand connected with his face. It still stung, the skin raised and probably red. The blond rubbed a hand to his face absentmindedly as he looked at a woman walking down the street towards him, squinting to see if she was the lost Deborah before, recognizing it wasn’t her, bowing his head, with his hand on the brim of his hat, and saying quietly, “Pardon me, ma’am.”

She gave him a queer look as he continued on down the road, the sharp wind that whistled between the buildings leaving him shivering and pulling his hands from his pockets to rub his arms. It was getting cold, alright. The blond would have given anything to undo what he assumed was a terrible cross of boundaries back at the tavern, his skin crawling as he thought about what he did with more clarity in the sobering wind. 

Finally,  _ finally _ , Erron spotted someone sitting alone on a rundown wagon near the gunsmith’s shop, her form hunched and curled in on herself as she gazed at nothing. The blond inhaled sharply and slowed his walk, trying his best not the spook Dovie as he took off his hat and waited for her to notice him. Minutes passed and still she didn’t look his way, Erron starting to grow impatient as he clutched his hat closer to his chest and coughed lightly in an attempt to gain her attention.

“Go. Away.”

“But I just got here, De-”

“I said GO AWAY.”

She still hadn’t looked at him. Erron sighed and, looking down at his boots, mummered as he tapped his foot restlessly, “I truly am sorry. Really. The behavior I showed at the tavern was unacceptable.”

“Yeah it was.” Now she was looking at him and Erron kinda wished she wasn’t. Her face, as a whole, was unreadable, but her eyes shined with betrayal and a pain that the blond hadn’t even realised was there. Her body was slightly trembling as she spoke evenly to Erron’s face, “I don’t have anythin’ to say to you right now. Leave me be.”

Erron felt rigid with shock, his hands kneading the hat he held until he shakingly asked, “Is- there anyway I can do to fix this, Dovie?”

“You can fix it by leavin’ me alone.” She turned away from the blond as her mouth pressed into a thin line and snarked, “I ain’t speakin’ no more. Not tonight.” The maybe-not-ever rang loud in clear in Erron’s mind. Standing for a few moments like a fool, Erron quickly brought his hat back to his head and turned on his heel, leaving Deborah alone and trying to forget what had happened.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Slight Gore

BAM! Blood splattered across the sand as Erron shot directly through another toad, the sun hot on his exposed neck and arms as he reloaded his gun slowly and aimed at the toad that was sitting directly across from it’s demolished friend. BAM! His aim was getting better, that was for sure. Talk in town about folks coming from Missouri and taking people in the middle of the night, especially those of a darker complexion, into deep slave territory had all of Kansas City in an uproar. Many patrons at the  **Opal White Tavern ** talked about it whenever they got a drink, Erron being able to listen closely whenever he was helping Priscilla do something or another behind the counter. 

The number of taken people had finally rose to a number which was alarming, close to fifteen or sixteen men, women, and children. The gunsmith, a man by the name of Johathan Parker, had sold out in less than a month after the first firefights had broken out near the entrance to Kansas City, when a young couple were jumped by ten or twenty men who accused them of going against the morals of the South. It had resulted in only eight deaths, but almost thirty people were wounded in the scuffle, resulting in quite a few doctor visits and more than enough amputations of major limbs. But hey, that’s why they called it Bleeding Kansas down in D.C. People die and then the survivors learn to shoot quicker and with more accuracy.

Which was exactly way Erron spent most of his free time practicing with the revolvers, starting to feel more comfortable with the small weapon in his hand as well as safer. Replaying Dovie’s instructions on how to handle the weapon solemnly in his head, he crouched down and aimed for a third toad that sat calmly behind the others, blissfully unaware about the fate it was about to endure. He calmly clicked the gun into place and held it in front of him with one knee steadying him on the ground, trying to keep his arm relaxed and his breathing steady. He was going to have to work on loading quicker. Those precious seconds couldn’t be wasted.

BAM!

Only it wasn’t his gun going off that made the noise. It was the back door from the tavern swinging noisily into the wooden boards that made up the back of the building, the one and only Deborah slowly walking out of the house with a revolver in her hand and a hard expression on her face. Her black dress swung lazily as she -- for lack of a better word -- stalked over to Erron, who had risen from his spot on the ground and had the revolver dangling from his fingers. He raised a brow as Dovie finally reached him, biting the inside of his cheek in agitation as a surge of heat drifted from the cavity of his chest to the rest of his body. The blond felt disgusted with himself; Her rejection of him had obviously not been introduced to his brain yet.

She glared at Erron for a few moments, his eyes traveling over the expanse of her face before she snapped with a shove to his shoulder, “Yer aim is good, but yer reflexes… are terrible.” So it was like that, huh? Straight to business. Not dealing with… what happened… two nights ago. That was more than okay with Erron, though the nagging feeling that he should ask her about it kept tugging at the back of his mind. 

Erron nodded and muttered, “Was tryin’ to work on my aim now.” He attempted humor next, trying to bring out Dovie’s playful side that rarely ever showed, “I know you like to be the one to shoot them dead first. Me? I’m just here to double check the bodies.”

Deborah hmphed at that, using a ribbon to tie her loose curls into a bun at the back of her head, as she snapped, “All the same, a slow gunman is a dead gunman.” With those words, she turned her back and took several wide steps towards the tavern, Erron’s confusion growing until the reason for her wide stride hit him like a train. Dueling. She wanted them to duel. And oh Jesus, did his mouth feel dry from the fear and excited anticipation thrumming through his veins.

His thought process was proven correct when Dovie turned suddenly, keeping her legs spread as she twirled the revolver in her hand teasingly. The blond copied her stance, flexing his pointer finger over the trigger, as he swallowed thickly and tried to breath like she had taught him to. Breathing was always the hardest part for him, his energy making him want to hold his breath until the excitement was over. He couldn’t do that and aim straight however, so Erron settled for biting the inside of his cheek instead.

A few anxious moments passed, both people shaking with energy as they stared each other down, the sun above blazing hot as they assessed the weaknesses of their opponent. Erron had just enough time to realize that maybe this duel was Deborah’s way to get back at him for the kiss before the woman in question shouted, “DRAW!” and BAM! Erron felt the sharp sting of metal enter his shoulder, right under his shoulder blade, as he flew backwards. He landed hard, sharp and hot pain running up and down his arm in waves as he hissed and raised his hand to graze at the wounded skin, his fingers coming away bloody.

It was painful, but, in the end, the blond knew it could have been worse and that he did indeed deserve it. He would take hundreds of bullets all at once just to be back into Deborah’s good graces. Besides, he kinda liked the sharp reminder that he was alive and living a life that could take anyone by surprise and leave them hurting or dying on the ground. Pain helped the ground him, so, naturally, he had grown to love it.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Graphic Violence / Blood and Gore

**1858**

It was bound to happen eventually. Erron was just surprised it took so long. Walking down the street with Dovie by his side, a strong, independent, freed woman, already drew curious glances from folks that were okay with Deborah’s presence in the town. When the folks from Arkansas and Missouri had started coming into the free state of Kansas and then into Kansas City, most locals just assumed that they’d come to move there permanently, trying to make their way in a big country that was always expanding. Unfortunately, this was not the case. Worse still, most bared firearms whenever they walked the streets, scaring people who got too close or had the wrong look to them.

One such man had approached Dovie while she and Erron were busy talking to Mister Parker, Deborah fishing around in her satchel to take out some silver dollars to pay the man for the bullets he had given them two weeks ago. Erron was busy playing with one of bullets lining the shelves, flicking the shell across his fingers as the man entered the store, the blond’s eyes immediately drifting to the rifle strapped across his back with mild disinterest. It wasn’t until the man’s eyes darkened as his gaze fell on Deborah did Erron grow concerned.

But he didn’t actually move to defend her until the man quickly stepped forward and grabbed her outstretched arm as she was handing money to Mister Parker, Erron immediately stepping forward when the glint of a knife caught his eye. He slammed into the man hard, forcing him to drop the knife as Dovie growled in fury and tried to elbow the man in the face. The man seemed to anticipate this though and quickly deflected the blow with a swipe of his hand, swing his right fist at Erron’s head as the blond went in for a punch himself. It connected and Erron went down, hitting the floor hard as he felt blood trickle down his nose and drip steadily onto the floor.

Much of the fight was a blur after that, Erron trying to stand as he saw the man grab the knife off of the floor and swipe it through Dovie’s arm, a shriek that was very uncharacteristic of her leaving her lips as blood soaked into her white glove and down her dress. Mister Parker watched carefully, his expression just a bit too placid for Erron’s liking. When the man grabbed Deborah by the waist and raised the knife as if to stab it directly into her stomach, the blond threw himself forward, knocking the man at the knees and causing him to release his grip on Dovie. 

Freed, she flung upon the wooden door and ran out of the shop, her dress flying behind her and flapping in the wind, as she quickly bolted towards the  **Opal White Tavern** . The man pursued, kicking Erron once in the chest, which caused a groan of pain, before he kicked open the door and marched outside, screaming obscenities as he started to chase. Powering through the pain that emerged in his stomach, the blond jumped to his feet and, grabbing one of the rifles off of the racks lining the walls of the gunsmith’s workshop, loaded the gun as he shouldered the door open. 

He raised it to his shoulder and, pointing it somewhat vaguely in the man’s direction, he held his breath and squeezed the trigger. The kickback hurt like an old friend, the sound causing people surrounding the shops to scurry back inside with a few screams echoing around them. Lowering the weapon from his shoulder, Erron saw a giant horse carrying many different types of supplies unceremoniously tip over, blood oozing out of it’s side, and crush the rider that was sitting on top with a scream of anguish. 

Erron cursed, flinging the rifle onto the ground as he tried to search the mass of people for the face of the man that had attacked Deborah. But he was gone. Erron kicked the rifle away with the toe of his boot, his face hot from embarrassment and rage. Not only had lost the man, he had missed his shot. He had MISSED and probably KILLED someone innocent in the process. The blond cursed colorfully and started to jog forward, praying to whoever would listen that the person beneath the horse wasn’t dead.


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Blood Imagery

The horse had been killed, bleeding out soon after it’s stomach had been shot through by Erron’s bullet. The man beneath the heavy horse was alive, but just barely. His breaths were shallow and drawn out, as if breathing was a strain on the man’s body. He was unconscious, with one hand wrapped solidly around his chest as if that would somehow stop the heavy load of his horse from cracking his ribs in half, and Erron, his concern growing the closer he got to the man, contemplated what to do next. He obviously couldn’t just leave the man in the middle of the road under his horse and supplies; He would block traffic and would probably die within minutes if left alone.

The blond stopped in front of the scene in front of him, one hand on his waist and one hand to his forehead to absentmindedly wipe the sweat away, as he whistled lowly and tried to slow his heart rate by breathing deeply. Up close, the damage looked even worse, with many of the supplies on the back of the horse crushed and shattered at his feet. Erron could feel the stares of the rest of the townsfolk as he circled the man slowly, trying to figure out the best way to pull him out from under the fallen beast. After all, he had done this. It was only right that he helped this man in any way he could. He wasn’t gonna just leave an innocent man die because he didn’t have half a mind to aim correctly. His Ma had taught him better than that.

Crotching down by the man’s peaceful, yet pale face, Erron reached over his head and grabbed the hand surrounding the man’s chest, standing up right and yanking backwards once he got a good grip on the appendage. He grunted when the man didn’t move, the weight of the horse keeping him trapped solidly to the ground. Sighing in frustration, the blond pulled harder, trying not to cringe when the wrist he was holding popped out of it’s socket with a sickening crunching noise. Planting his feet and gritting his teeth, Erron almost stumbled forward, dropping the man’s arm, when he felt the man give a little under the horse’s corpse.

Reaching down and grabbing the arm again, the blond pulled as hard as he could and soon the man was free, sliding across the road while dirt and soil became trapped in the man’s brunet hair and plain clothing.Erron stopped yanking and dropped the arm, bending over as he tried to regulate his breathing from the overexertion of his muscles. There. The man was free. The blond could now just leave him and walk away, hopefully never having to deal with the man he almost shot ever again. All he had to do was catch his breath and stand up. That’s all. 

Nodding slightly as he turned the words of his plan over in his mind, Erron slowly stood straight, trying to ignore the dull headache that was beginning to form at the front of his brain, and went to turn away, catching a few onlookers whispering and muttering things to their partners and friends out of the corner of his eye. Including Deborah’s. Except she wasn’t talking; She was just looking at the scene with mild confusion on her face before wiping the expression away and marching forwards, Erron pausing as the excitable female approached him and trying not to flinch when he saw that her arm was still bleeding. 

Both of their shadows fell across the man’s unconscious body as Dovie gave Erron a look and asked with a hands on her hips and exasperation in her voice, “Well? Yer gonna help him, right?”

“Wasn’t plannin’ to,” Erron admitted slowly, switching his gaze between the man and Deborah while hoping that the onlookers surrounding the scene would eventually walk away. Their constant presence was starting to make the blond uncomfortable. “We could just leave him here and let the sheriff deal with him…”

Deborah made an indignant noise and snapped, “That ain’t happenin’. Everyone saw you and probably suspects the worse, considerin’ what’s been goin’ on around here nowadays.” The blood pooling up at the bass of her wrist dripped steadily onto the ground, the blond watching each bead fall almost as if in a trance. The sheer amount that was welling up and falling couldn’t be healthy. She was going to have to go get that checked at the Doctor’s, maybe even have to get stitches. Guilt welled up in the blond’s chest once more. Dovie had almost been  _ murdered _ and he had almost let it happen. Once again, Erron Black hadn’t been fast enough and, this time, he had paid the consequences for it.

A hard swat from Dovie’s hand to his sore shoulder brought him back to Kansas City and out of his mind, the blond hissing and placing a hand to his shoulder as Dovie said with a hard expression, “Listen here!” She moved to stick him in the shoulder with her finger again, but Erron stepped back quickly with a frown before she could. “I’m gonna go to the Doctor’s and get some supplies for him.” She jabbed her chin in the unconscious man’s direction before continuing authoritatively, “Get him to the tavern while I’m gone. He’s gonna be tired as all Hell, so bring him upstairs to yer room and be sure to tell Priscilla what yer up to while yer at it. Don’t want to scare her or nothin’. I’ll try to be as quick as possible.”

And with that, off Deborah went, weaving and sometimes elbowing her way through the straggling numbers of people still waiting to see a conclusion to all the action that had just transpired. Erron knew she had left quickly so that he couldn’t object to her plan because oh boy howdy did he want to object real bad. Looking at the man on the ground and instantly feeling a pain in his shoulder at the thought of lugging him all the way to the tavern by his lonesome, Erron sighed irritably, rolled his eyes, and grumbled under his breath about how Dovie could’ve at least helped him carry the brunet _halfway_ to the **Opal White Tavern** as he picked up the man’s arm and started pulling once more.


	13. Chapter 13

The first thing that Erron noticed about the brunet that laid before him in one of the three rooms Priscilla and her family lived in above the tavern was that his eyes were green. Not a muddy green that Erron was used to seeing in the random passersby that visited the tavern below. No. The blond reckoned the eyes were the same color as the tiny emerald beads he used to look at in Mister Stewart’s shop in Nacogdoches. Deep, rich, swirling with a color that was so uncommon that the only place people could even come close to finding the color was out West in California or in dreams about fantastical places and people that weren’t actually real. 

The brunet’s eyes looked like they were pulsating with magic, something that had been forbidden to speak about all throughout Erron’s childhood because magic was associated with beings that his Ma had even refused to say the names of out loud. But that’s the closest thing Erron could compare those shining eyes to, the orbs seemingly mystical and ancient along with just a hint of dangerous. Honest to God, the blond would have been lying if he hadn’t said that looking into those eyes and then just looking away had felt like the hardest thing he had done in a long, long time.

The second thing that Erron noticed about the brunet was his voice, how it matched the power of his eyes tenfold and sent unrecognized shivers up and down the blond’s back. The man looked like he was trying to say something, his adam’s apple bobbing as he tried to spit the words out. Erron, who was sitting beside the bed in an uncomfortable wooden chair as he leaned forward with clasped hands and forearms on his thighs, waited as the man finally spoke again and asked horsley, “Am- am I dead?”

Shaking his head, Erron reached beside him, glancing at the door to his right to see if Deborah had returned yet, and grabbed a glass of water on the table and handed it shakely to the man, who took the drink eagerly and downed it in one mouthful. “No, you ain’t dead,” Erron replied with a sigh, his mouth forming a grim line as he took the cup back from the brunet’s hands and placed it onto the table. He was never so unhappy to almost shoot someone in his whole life. 

The man chuckled weakly, his breathing still shallow and irregular, before saying quietly, “That’s funny. Coulda sworn I went to Heaven and met an angel.” He was looking at Erron as he said this, the blond feeling his ears warm uncomfortably as he started bouncing his knee on the floor, before his perfect, entrancing eyes rolled into the back of his head and fell back into a deep slumber. And right then and there, Erron knew he was in a Hell of a lot of trouble.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll leave y'all on a cliffhanger... >:)

**Author's Note:**

> Songs I used For Inspiration In This Section:
> 
> 1\. "Every Rose Has Its Thorn" - Poison  
2\. "Showdown" - Svrcina  
3\. "River" - Bishop Briggs  
4\. "White Wave - Stripped" - Roses & Revolutions  
5\. "Anything You Can Do" - Bernadette Peters, Tom Wopat  
6\. "Love The Way You Lie" - Rihanna, Eminem  
7\. "Wanted Dead Or Alive" - Bon Jovi  
8\. "Livin' On A Prayer" - Bon Jovi


End file.
